trench coat & porcelain doll
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: They always meet in bars. Jack Harkness/Jim Kirk, Kirk/Spock, Jack/10. Oneshot.


**Title: Trench Coat & Porcelain Doll**

**Pairings: Jack Harkness/Jim Kirk, Kirk/Spock, Jack/10**

**Genre: Friendship & Romance**

**Summary: They always meet in bars.**

**Length: oneshot**

**Dissing of the Claims: Neither Doctor Who nor Star Trek (the new movie series) are things that I own. Which is unfortunate, but I'm coping.**

**A/N: I'm pulling myself out of my writing slump by combining America's and Britain's best long-running sci-fi shows. Yeah. Somehow, this will help me regain my Hetalia muse. I don't really know. (In my defense, I really needed to write something Kirk/Spock, because the gay levels in that movie were _high_-I'm talking on par with Merlin.) Anyway, enjoy, I guess. Feedback is always appreciated. :)**

* * *

They always meet in bars.

The first time they meet, it's because Jack hasn't gotten out of Cardiff in a couple of years, and hasn't been to San Francisco in a couple of decades, and Jim just aced his first finals at Starfleet Academy and, obviously, needs to celebrate.

They hate each other at first, as similar people always do—"Hey, how's it going?" Jack inquires (wink included) of the enticing green-haired beauty perched in a corner just as Jim "Oh, didn't see you there"'s his way into her space with a grin, and the glares could barbecue a steak at five yards. Bones cackles as Jim stews, not even five minutes later, both of them watching avidly as Jack peruses the girl with his tongue. Jim can never resist a challenge, so he makes sure to whisk the awkwardly naïve, adorable little Polish kid off of his feet before Jack can even get past a wink. And it only escalates from there.

But, somehow, after a couple of hours and several drinks, the two men find themselves on the dance floor, pushed together by swirling lights, loud music, and the beating of a hundred lonely hearts. In spite of themselves, Jack is fascinated by Jim's smile—the blood red boiling beneath a façade of bright, sunny yellow—and Jim is fascinated by Jack's long trench coat—he's been around long enough to know that men with handsome faces and large coats are always hiding something, and Jim is always curious.

"Who the fuck are you, anyway?" Jim mutters later, between bites of Jack's ear—it's surprisingly soft and tastes of peppermint, although maybe that was just the last drink Jim had—in Jim's dorm room.

"Told you, I'm Jack," Jack says, tugging on Jim's shirt until it's taken a quick journey to the floor, and then starting on his pants.

"Doesn't answer m'question," Jim slurs, grinning lazily and returning the favor. "You aren't … Aren't normal. Too young. Not 'nough wrinkles."

It's enough to make Jack still, if only for a moment.

"You're perceptive, smart," Jack whispers against Jim's shoulder. "Gonna go far, kid."

"That still doesn't—"

"_Shh_."

And Jim forgets his question, in the midst of sweat and cries and the best kind of pain.

Jack slides out of bed before dawn and places a delicate kiss on Jim's forehead, repeats "Gonna go far, kid," like it's the glue holding a porcelain doll's face together, slips on his trench coat and tiptoes away, leaves no number or even a last name.

The second time they meet, it's because Jim's so popular in the aftermath of the defeat of Nero he managed to land an interview on some talk show in London, and Jack happens to be in the city on business.

"So, how has the whole 'savior of the world' thing been going for you, Jim? Picked up all of Britain's finest yet?" Jack asks, slipping onto the barstool next to Jim (well, on the side that isn't occupied by a pretty young thing with a lovely taste in boots.) The kid is older than he remembers, both in body and in spirit, but also lighter, somehow—a thinner shell.

Jim's face, when he sees the man beside him, honestly should be put in a museum, but he wouldn't be Jim Kirk if he didn't recover quickly.

"Nah, I prefer to rely on my innate handsomeness and charm," he replies with an easy grin—easier than before, or just wider? Jack can't tell.

Jack shakes his head in fake disappointment. "Shameful. You should always use what tools you have, especially since they might not be around very long."

This time, there is dancing, but no private rooms with locked doors—and at the end of the night, they exchange phone numbers.

The next few times they meet, it isn't by chance: when Jim is on leave (which is, well, about as often and predictable as a hurricane), Jack flies over to San Fran for a night of drinks and talk.

Jim complains about Starfleet regulations, and his crew, and (mostly) Spock, and brags about successful missions. Jack gives advice on how to deal with alien civilizations (and how the hell does he _know_, Jim wonders, but never asks, because Jack's more tight-lipped about himself than a bottle of nitric acid) and Spock when he gets to be too frustrating. And, of course, they always fight to see who can make out with more people by the end of the night (bonus points for off-world species.)

Somehow, in between whiskey and cognac, scotch and champagne, margaritas and wine, they managed to become friends.

It's during the ninth meeting that Jack lets slip that he actually helped found Starfleet—and Jim thinks hard for a minute while Jack is in the bathroom, and figures it out.

"Jack, you look, what, thirty-five?"

"Something like that," Jack agrees warily.

"But you're actually … A hundred? Two hundred? Am I getting warm?" Jim is almost shouting, so childish in his guessing game.

"Not really," Jack says, grinning and wondering how long it'll take.

In about half a minute, Jim is up to a thousand, and Jack says, "Stop."

Jim wants an explanation, _needs_ an explanation, won't be able to _sleep_ until he gets an explanation.

And what the hell—he's smart, he's not bad at diplomacy when he isn't shooting people, and he can keep a secret. Why the hell not?

"It's getting hot in here," Jack observes, taking off his trench coat and throwing it over a stool.

So he tells Jim about the Doctor, watches in amusement as Jim's eyes grow steadily to the size of golf balls, despite his efforts to hide it.

Two years after the ninth meeting, Jim gets a call from a number unknown to anyone else in the crew and then spends a good five minutes jumping around on the bridge as though it's Christmas in space.

"What _is_ it, Captain?" Spock presses, if only out of fear that if he keeps on like that, he'll break something.

"He found him!" Jim exclaims, pausing in his bouncing to punch a fist into the air (dangerously close to Chekov's desk, the equipment on which was worth at least ten thousand dollars.) "Or maybe _he_ found _him_, but that's not the point. The point is, Spock, that they have a fucking _space and time machine_, now, and do you understand how _awesome _that is, they can go _any-fucking-where_ in all of space and time, and … And. Hey. Wait a second."

The tenth time they meet, it's because Jim calls Jack and asks for backup at conference sessions with a particularly easily-angered alien king, and Jack, because he wants Jim to meet the Doctor as much as Jim wants to meet the Doctor, wheedles the Doctor into it.

But when they sit down together at the bar, it isn't Jim the Doc's drawn to—it's Spock, with his logic and his mind and his fond contempt for most of the human race (Jim in particular.) (And yes, Jim brings Spock, because if Jack can bring a second person to their meetings, then so can Jim, and besides, Spock doesn't believe the TARDIS is logically possible.)

They could—and almost do—spend hours arguing the most modern physics theories, attempting to prove some mathematical formula, and complaining about the stupid humans. Jim doesn't think he's ever seen Spock laugh that much in that short of a time period before (and he absolutely is not jealous.)

He has a nice laugh, really, when you get to hear it. It starts off soft and quiet, hesitant, not sure if it's polite or not—but it doesn't take long for it to grow into a ripping, roaring explosion of sound. And Spock's laugh isn't the only nice thing about him … There's the intelligence, of course, and the body in general, and those fingers especially, and _cheekbones_, and …

Ten days with the Doctor, and already, Jack can't remember why he ever wanted to leave. New places every day, new faces, new languages … But the same Doctor beside him, familiar and lovable in his blue suit and converse sneakers. The Doctor isn't bad to look at—no, not at all, with that hair, and those eyes, and the way he smiles, and …

"I'll do it if you will," Jack says, grinning.

"Deal," Jim replies, grinning back.

There is only one more meeting, after that, because the Doctor isn't very good at finding particular times and places, so usually, by the time he and Jack get somewhere, Spock and Jim are already gone.

But the Doctor and Jack do visit, that one time, when Spock and Jim are in their fifties, Spock teaching and Jim being a pain in the ass to basically all of Starfleet. They see Spock explaining to their students the difference between learning and thinking, and Jim yelling that following the rules isn't always _right_, and Jim adopting a dog and Spock letting him keep it, and Spock making Jim lunch every day, and Jim never forgetting to give Spock a good-bye kiss before leaving for the hell-hole he calls "work."

And from time to time, afterwards, Jack tosses his trench coat without abandon onto the TARDIS floor and shows the Doctor how much he loves him—and whenever he starts to lose hope, he remembers that cracked porcelain doll that, held together with glue and sheer willpower, was enough to save the world.


End file.
